Puzzle Me Complete

There is a beautiful soundtrack by Rachel Portman. Its called ‘We all complete’. The name itself is heartbreaking, the music even more. I assumed that the music was merely bringing our attention towards the dreadful end, the verity of which cannot be questioned. We all die. True as that maybe, there is something more relevant to be extracted from that simple sentence. More poignantly, we are born incomplete. It is only our journey through life that completes us. Perhaps, that is why most of us are restless souls, forever seeking satisfaction. But fulfillment is only a mirage. The closer we tread towards it, the further it evades us. By the time, we truly let go of the illusion of wholeness; we are too close to the end. Rarely does a man get time to acknowledge this true completeness. So what missing pieces do we pick up on the way? What is this whole made up of? Are we all made up of the same pieces? Perhaps it is the decisions we make. Decisions that help us carve a path in time, that we turn back to call our life, which are often drawn with assumptions or assurance from someone who had made a similar choice. You start out on this road naive and assured that the people, who started this journey long before you, have enough experience to warn you about the hornet’s nest or know about the shortest route (as they are standing at the hilltop). You assume they’d know the map inside out. But people are like books written by their own experience. They are puzzles that have unique pieces. You cannot force a stolen piece to make you whole. So we make the decisions that we can, and they make us. Often, we look for road signs. Isn’t that what they are here for anyway? So many have followed them before us. They must have reached the hilltop. Their bird’s eye is beckoning us. Wrong again! Someone flipped these signs and alas, I might be approaching from another direction. For there is no one beckoning me. Only my own decisions and I, until the jigsaw is complete, each tab interlocked perfectly with each slot. We all complete in our own way. Even if none of us feel we have had enough time to do so.